


Where the Lovelight Gleams

by onekisstotakewithme



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Charles is Soft as Fuck, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Episode: s09e05 Death Takes a Holiday, Found Family, Gen, Letters, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-02 23:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/pseuds/onekisstotakewithme
Summary: "Christmas came late, but we’re here to keep it with you anyway."Tag to "Death Takes a Holiday" (updated Sundays)





	1. Charles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flootzavut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/gifts), [blue_raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_raven/gifts).



It’s two months before Christmas, long before anyone should logically be thinking of Yuletide, but the conversation drifts through the mess tent with the first taste of snow in the air.

Charles is fed up. Like every other reasonable (and unreasonable) person in this cesspool, he’d hoped to be home by this Christmas, but it’s looking more and more like a wistful thought than a reality. He’s sitting in the still aptly-named Swamp, trying to draft a letter to Honoria, but every time he tries to get past _My Dear Sister,_ Hunnicutt and Pierce storm through with all the subtlety of a blizzard. 

Their ceaseless bickering has never failed to remind Charles of two baboons he’d seen once in a zoo, but their conversation is the same one they’ve been having for the past month at least: the reliability of the postal service.

“Of course they’re going to get there, Beej! You practically sent them the day after Christmas _last_ year!”

“Forgive me, Hawk, I hadn't realized how unreasonable it was for me to want my little girl to have presents to open on Christmas morning,” Hunnicutt retorts.

“Gentlemen, _please_ ,” Charles tries, turning around to give them a look, but they don’t hear him, too caught up in their own domestic dispute.

“Beej, I kinda doubt you’ll be the only one buying her presents. It’s not like there’ll be an empty spot under the tree if yours don’t show up in time.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, I don’t expect you to understand-”

“I understand plenty, you moron. And who cares anyway? Erin probably won’t even remember-,”

“Won’t remember what, Hawk? Won't remember if I'm there or not? Won't remember if her own father forgets to give her a Christmas present?”

“Well- I- look, when I was her age, I was just excited about presents, didn’t matter where they were from!”

“What are you trying to say-”

“Gentlemen!” Charles snaps, standing up. “Please. I am trying to write my sister.”

“Why don’t you write a brother instead? Much more interesting,” Pierce tells him, and Charles pushes away the sharp stab of pain at the glib remark. “Can you tell Beej-”

“I will tell you both this, and tell it to you in small letters: _out_.”

“Oh, but Charles, it’s cold out there!”

“That is what your extensive collective of winter gear is for, Hunnicutt. Make use of it and _scram_!”

“Wow, he’s using normal people words,” Pierce says to Hunnicutt.

“We must’ve really made him mad,” Hunnicutt agrees, the argument forgotten, as they leave. Charles isn’t so reassured that it is over, certain it’ll spark back up in the mess tent by dinnertime.

At least for now, he has peace and quiet in which to compose his letter to Honoria about the chocolates.

He has to sympathize with Hunnicutt, the postal service out here in Hell’s sweatshop is atrocious, and really, requests for any and all creature comforts must be sent early so to arrive sometime before the armistice.

Charles settles in to write his letter, but as he puts pen to paper, he can’t help but pause.

He’s well used to the domestic woes of BJ Hunnicutt, and feels a degree of pity for the man (though he’d loathe to admit it), but something in his colleague’s words has sparked an idea.

A dangerous idea, admittedly, but an idea nonetheless.

There is nothing stopping him from sending a Christmas present of his own to Erin Hunnicutt.

He has no love lost for BJ Hunnicutt, has nothing but grudging respect for the man’s medical skills, but he simply cannot abide by the thought of young Erin keeping Christmas with an absent father.

(Regrettably, Charles's own father, while present physically, was his own kind of absent even on Christmas and Charles cannot help wondering if things could have been different…)

He returns his focus to the letter, but barely, writing out his request mechanically, and it’s only after he’s signed it _Your loving brother, Charlie,_ that he adds his postscript:

> _My dear sister, I am enclosing two separate checks with this letter, one of which is for the chocolates. As for the other one, and I beg you to keep this to yourself, it is to be used to buy Erin Hunnicutt a Christmas present. A toy or teddy bear would no doubt make her Christmas very special, but I leave the decision up to you. You have a keen eye for gift-giving, and will no doubt find the perfect item. Though Christmas presents will not make up for her father’s absence, I feel that every child should have something special at Christmas. I’ll include the address you are to send it to, as well as notes for Dr. Hunnicutt’s wife, and Erin herself._
> 
> _Hopefully next year, I shall be home to keep Christmas with you._

He settles back in his chair, satisfied, and takes a sip of his tea.

There is so little he can do, and he could never admit to Hunnicutt or Pierce that he is in fact invested in their wellbeing, but there are still gifts left for him to give.

> _Dear Mrs. Hunnicutt,_
> 
> _I have no doubt that your husband has mentioned me to you (though I doubt it has been in the politest of terms), but my name is Charles. Please forgive my presumptuousness, but I had wanted to send your daughter Erin a Christmas present, and I write not to seek permission but to inform you as to why. I know more than anything that your husband had wished to be there for you and your daughter, and bitterly regrets that he cannot be. And while I would hesitate to admit that I consider your husband a friend of mine, I feel that since I presume to send your child a Christmas present, we can be honest with each other. Christmas is a time to spend with loved ones, and I regret for your family’s sake, as well as my own, that the members of our unit will not be home for the holiday season. But please accept my best wishes and a simple gift, with one small provision: cherish every second, and that wonderful daughter of yours._
> 
> _Yours fondly,_
> 
> _Charles Emerson Winchester III._

He has just one more note to write, and then he can corral the hapless company clerk into getting it into the outgoing mail. Charles has written many letters since arriving overseas, but this is the first time he's ever felt uncertain of what he's writing. And it isn't a letter to a congressman or a senator, but to a single little girl.

> _Dear Erin,_
> 
> _Though it will no doubt be a few years before you yourself can read this, I am sure your dear mother will read it to you._
> 
> _Merry Christmas, Erin._
> 
> _I am a friend of your father’s over here in Korea, which is where he is instead of being home with you where he should be. Now, I know for a fact that more than anything, he’d rather be there with you, watching you open your Christmas gifts, than here, and I wish that I had the power to send him home to you._
> 
> _I am sure that you have been a very good girl this year, and as I am a close friend of St. Nick’s, I asked him to give you an extra special gift. Please enjoy it._
> 
> _Your father has taught me so much about what family is, and I hope you know that he loves you and your mother very much. He is always happy to tell your Uncle Hawkeye and I all about you! And I only hope that next year, your father will be home to celebrate with you and your mother. Until then, I am sure you will be a very brave little girl. Your family (and its overseas branch here in Korea) loves you very much. Merry Christmas, small one._
> 
> _Charles._


	2. Hawkeye

It’s late, after midnight, the real midnight, and as the wind whistles outside, the flames are dying in the stove.

Across the tent, Charles is sleeping the sleep of the morally bankrupt, no doubt kept warm by his own greed.

Hawk sighs, watching the flickering light from the dying stove across the canvas, a long way off from a long winter’s nap.

It’s Christmas Day, the one day when peace on earth is supposed to reign.

Instead, despite the tinsel and trimmings and holiday trappings, it's still Korea. Sticking a shiny bow on a war doesn't make it peace, after all.

Beside him, BJ shifts in his sleep, nestling in closer to Hawk’s side. Hawk turns to watch him, every feature so familiar and beloved, softened by sleep, and this is the closest Hawk has come to peace on earth all day.

He can’t help reaching out, stroking a gentle hand down BJ’s cheek, watching in awe as BJ smiles in his sleep at the touch.

 _I love you,_ Hawk thinks for what must be the thousandth time. Maybe by the thousandth and first time, he’ll have the courage to say it out loud.

BJ’s eyes flicker open. “Hawk?”

“Go back to sleep, Beej,” Hawk tells him. “It’s late.”

BJ gives him a sleepy smile, which turns into a yawn. “Merry Christmas Hawkeye.”

Hawkeye smiles, tugging on BJ’s moustache, prompting a sleepy chuckle from Beej. Within seconds, BJ has relaxed back against Hawkeye, breathing softly.

“Merry Christmas, Beej,” Hawk whispers back, once he’s sure BJ is asleep.

Sleep is still elusive, even with BJ keeping him warm, and finally Hawk gives up, wriggling his way out of the nest of blankets he’s sharing with Beej, before tucking his best friend back in.

He tugs on his boots, and heads over to the mess tent.

Maybe if he’s lucky, there are some Christmas goodies left over. One piece of the best fudge Hawkeye has ever tasted isn’t quite enough to replace the lunch and dinner he missed. Instead it’s cold, and silent, and Hawkeye huddles at the table closest to the heater.

He pulls his notepad out of his jacket pocket, tears the top letter off – thanking his dad for the Christmas gifts, promising that his own gifts are on the way, and should arrive home sometime after Hawkeye himself does – and starts a new letter.

He can’t send BJ home. It’s not in his power, and some selfish part of him is glad for someone to share the long, lonely nights with, but a bigger part is thinking of Peggy Hunnicutt.

Of Erin.

Of the one piece of home BJ so willingly sacrificed so another child could have a Christmas feast like the one his own daughter would be having thousands of miles away.

So Hawkeye drafts a letter, occasionally warming his hands against the heater.

> _Dear Mrs. Hayden,_
> 
> _You don’t know me from Adam, and I don’t know you from Doris Day (though knowing what I do of your daughter, I have no doubt you’re every bit as pretty as she is), but I was writing to ask a little favour of you._
> 
> _My name is Benjamin Franklin Pierce, and I’m a doctor here in Korea. And BJ, your son-in-law, is the best friend I’ve ever had. Let me just start by saying I’m a huge fan of your work. Your daughter must be something special from the way BJ talks about her, and your fudge was first-class. Finest kind as we say here at MASH._
> 
> _BJ was over the moon when he got your Christmas package of fudge, and I was too because whatever else BJ is, he’s generous, and I knew I would be getting some of that delicious fudge. My mouth was already watering, when our CO, Colonel Potter came in and told us that even though there were peace talks, none of them would be occurring around a turkey dinner. Our Christmas dinner convoy was hijacked, and we had a whole posse of kids from the orphanage coming to keep Christmas with us who would be getting none of the Yuletide cheer we’d promised. _
> 
> _There was only one thing to do. We all handed over the care packages from home, hoping that we’d get even the slightest morsel once the kids were done with them. And then on Christmas Day, the ghost of Korea present came to visit, and left BJ and I with a rather unsavoury gift- a dying soldier._
> 
> _It seems grisly to think about, doesn’t it? To be in the middle of a war trying to save a soldier, while all around the world, families are celebrating peace on earth. But that’s Korea, and it doesn’t stop on holidays._
> 
> _I guess what I’m trying to ask for, is for a second chance at Christmas. Even Ebenezer Scrooge got one of those, and if anyone ever deserved a second Christmas, it’s BJ Hunnicutt. I’m sure you know as well as I do that he’s too good to be in this war, that he's far better than most of us. Far better than me, even. He’s too kind and generous, and gave up his Christmas Day to try and send a man back to his family._
> 
> _Can you please send me another batch of your world-famous fudge to give to BJ? I’ll do any surgery you want for free once I'm stateside, though the waiting list may be a bit extended at this point in time while I’m over here playing takeout for the lice. I just want BJ to have a merry Christmas._
> 
> _Thank you and happy holidays,_
> 
> _Benjamin Franklin Pierce._

He tears it off the notepad, folding it and putting it in his pocket.

He’s still a long way from peace on earth, after the Christmas he’s just had, but he has a warm cot full of BJ waiting for him back in the Swamp, and for now, that’s close enough for jazz.


	3. BJ

It’s a bitterly cold day in the middle of January, with the wind cutting right through BJ like the sixteen-odd layers he’s wearing aren’t even there, and he’s thoroughly chilled by the time he gets back to the Swamp.

It’s been cold like this ever since Christmas, but BJ isn’t used to any of it, not the wind, and certainly not the cold that reaches in and wraps around his bones.

The Swamp is warm, at least.

“Morning Beej,” Hawkeye says from his chair, where he’s sitting with a cup of coffee.

“Hi Hawk.”

“Hunnicutt, good morning.”

"Charles," BJ says with a nod. “My, aren’t we all jovial this morning.”

“Have a good shift?” Hawk asks.

“No.” BJ walks over to hold his hands in front of the stove. There’s a tension in the Swamp despite the amiable bunkmates, almost like the brewing of a thunderstorm, building to that first clap of thunder, tension that BJ wants to shrug off.

He turns around, catching Hawkeye and Charles in some kind of silent argument, but they stop when they see he’s watching.

“What’s going on?”

“Why would you assume that something is going on?” Charles asks.

BJ sighs. He’s too tired for this.

“Listen, Beej, I know Christmas wasn’t exactly… wonderful this year. More like pieces on earth than peace on earth.”

“Yeah…?” _Where exactly is Hawk going with this?_

“And well, despite coming to it by different routes, it would seem that both Pierce and I… had conspired with your loved ones back home to ensure you kept Christmas properly." Charles smiles, a little hesitant.

“It's just a little late is all. But you know me, Beej, I’ll probably be late to my own breakdown,” Hawk jokes.

“What,” BJ says, gesturing between the two of them. “You two are buddies now?”

“ _Hardly_ ,” Charles says. “In fact, after today, I will _revel_ in going back to our professional animosity. But that is tomorrow, Hunnicutt.”

“And _this_ is today.”

“And if you two are done talking in riddles, I’m gonna go take a shower,” BJ says, rolling his eyes. 

“Ah, ah, ah," Hawk says with a grin. "Nope, sorry Beej, you’re not going anywhere until you’ve opened your Christmas presents.”

“My what?” BJ asks, turning from his bunk. "What are you talking about, Hawk?"

“You heard him, Hunnicutt.”

“I happen to know,” Hawk says, bouncing up with an exuberance that BJ hasn’t seen too often (and today it’s one that he envies). “That you’ve been a _very_ good boy this year, Beej.”

The exaggerated wink he gives him makes BJ laugh.

“Pierce’s rancor aside, we really do have gifts for you.”

“Come along, not-so-tiny Tim, to the seat of honour.” Hawk says, tugging BJ over and nudging BJ into his own chair.

BJ sits down, but can't help feeling lost as he looks between his uncharacteristically friendly roommates. “I... I don’t understand.”

“That’s part of the magic, Beej,” Hawk says, tutting as he shakes his head. “You’re not supposed to understand. It’s called faith.”

BJ grins. "A little mushy and religious for a crazy agnostic there, don't you think?"

Hawk grins, about to say something further, as Charles rolls his eyes. “Pierce, if you’re quite through?”

“I couldn’t swing the Santa hat and coat on such short notice,” Hawk says, sitting down on his bunk. Charles tugs a crate over, and now they’re both watching him, and it’s touching that they’ve thought of him, but also just a tad unnerving. "But ho ho ho or whatever the fuck it is."

“I’m just the slightest bit confused,” BJ tells him.

“Don’t let a little confusion throw you, Captain,” Hawk says, his eyes glittering with the ghosts of Christmases past and present, and it feels a bit like someone is twisting BJ’s heart into a knot. 

“The two of you got me Christmas presents?” BJ asks. His brain is fuzzy still from his night shift, and refusing to comprehend… whatever this is.

“They’re a little late,” Hawk allows. "But yeah, Beej, we did."

“I offered to have the postman shot," Charles agrees. "But Pierce here insisted it wasn’t necessary.”

“So Christmas came late, but we’re here to keep it with you anyway, if you'll have us."

"If I'll have you," Bj repeats, still confused.

"Though if you want to hear Charles sing, you’ll have to get him soused first.”

“Pierce, I can sing you a tune, but you wouldn’t like it.”

BJ laughs, because the bickering is normal, and he clings to that, or tries to, until Hawk reaches over and places a gift in his lap. There’s a look in his eyes of indescribable tenderness, and he gives BJ a very fond smile, before leaning back on his cot.

“Hawk…?”

“Just… open it.”

“Oh… kay.”

“Trust me, Hunnicutt, you’ll want to listen to Pierce.”

BJ looks at the package in his lap. It’s a little beat up, and the handwriting on the label is all too familiar.

But it doesn’t make sense.

He tears open the package, and all he can smell is fudge.

The best fudge in the world, Peg’s mom’s second finest creation, the one he didn’t get to have at Christmas.

He has to fight back tears, because this isn’t just fudge, it’s _home_ , boxed up and sent halfway around the world, and Hawkeye is the one responsible.

“Merry Christmas, Beej,” Hawkeye says. “I know it’s not much but-”

“Hawkeye,” BJ says, relieved when his voice doesn’t shake, and he can’t barely see Hawk through the shimmer of tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “God, Hawk.”

“Ahem.” Charles clears his throat. “Perhaps you should open your other gift before you begin blubbering?”

“Right.” BJ nods, trying to suppress the feeling, but Hawk meets his eyes and gives him a grin. Hawkeye's smile is BJ's salvation, his own peace on earth.

Hawkeye reaches over, and gives BJ’s hand a quick squeeze and then lets go again, as Charles hands over a somewhat smaller package. His eyes are shifting, and he seems almost sheepish about it.

“I know that it is not much, and it is not quite what you wanted for Christmas this year, but I ah… felt that you would appreciate it. Merry Christmas, Hunnicutt... er. BJ. Merry Christmas, BJ.”

“Charles, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Well wait until you open it. It could just be a bill for his friendship,” Hawk suggests.

“ _Do_ shut up, Pierce.”

“Stop trying to _eat_ Christmas, Charles. Or at least wait until I’ve had a bite.”

BJ can force out a laugh, but his voice is still shaky. “If you two don’t stop being bad little boys, you won’t get Christmas gifts next year.”

“I’ve never been anything but bad,” Hawkeye says. “Santa still visits my house every year.”

“And I simply cannot be on the naughty list,” Charles agrees. “I have paid too much in bribes to keep it that way.”

Hawk cackles. “Charles, was that a _joke_?”

Charles blinks. “Was it not funny?”

This cracks Hawk and BJ up, both of them laughing as Charles shakes his head at them. Charles, at least, is smiling, and BJ’s heart lifts a little when he hears Charles’s attempts at stifling a chuckle. And then all three of them are laughing.

BJ can’t keep his hands from shaking, as he sets the precious box of fudge aside, and tears into the small package from Charles.

It’s a stack of photos.

Photos of Peg, photos of Erin.

A Christmas gift.

“I, ah, took the liberty of sending your daughter a Christmas present. I do hope I was not in the wrong doing that. And I had not intended to…” Charles trails off, embarrassed. 

It dawns on BJ that Charles is nervous, perhaps anxious that BJ won’t like his present, but how could BJ be disappointed in _this_?

BJ is captivated by a photo Floyd must have taken, one that catches Peggy mid-laugh, Erin in her lap, and he can’t help but stroke a finger over it.

He’d almost forgotten Peggy’s laugh, and now he hears it so vividly that he has to close his eyes against the tears.

He won’t forget again now.

He’s torn between savouring the photos, relishing in them, and tearing through them feverishly, as if by studying them fast enough, he could somehow transport himself into the moments they’ve captured.

“Beej?” Hawk asks softly, his voice gentle and tempered with worry, and BJ suddenly can’t think of anything else but how much he loves the two men in front of him. “You okay?”

And BJ looks up at him, looks at the blue eyes and dark hair and red robe of the man he loves, and he looks over at Charles, who until now he’s barely considered an acquaintance, never mind a _friend._

But between the two of them, everything he’s been missing is _here_.

And to BJ’s surprise, he starts crying, laughing through his tears at the same time, because oh God, it’s all too much, he’s so overflowing with love, he feels as excited and bursting with affection as he was on the day he married Peggy, on the day his Erin was born.

“Hunnicutt, are you quite all right?” Charles asked.

But BJ can’t get any words out, because he’s been pining for his family for so long, and it’s so easy to forget that he has a family right here, but he does, because these two have gone to all the trouble for _him_. The idea that the two of them have conspired to bring BJ’s family to him is too big to wrap his brain around.

It’s baffling and heart-wrenching and beautiful.

“Merry Christmas, Beej,” Hawkeye says again, putting his hand on BJ’s shoulder and squeezing gently, his voice tender and warm, as if all the affection he can’t express otherwise is crammed into three words.

 _I love you,_ BJ thinks, and it’s not the first time he’s thought it, and it won’t be the last, but he thinks it so fiercely that it calms him down, stopping his tears. _I love you, Hawkeye Pierce._

And he’s standing up before he realizes it, tugging Hawkeye to his feet and pulling him into the tightest hug, as if the war has just ended and they’ll never see each other again, burying his face in Hawkeye’s shoulder for a second.

And then Hawkeye is pulling away, and BJ can't help himself, he leans in and gives Hawk a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Beej!" Hawk is laughing when BJ pulls away, and oh _God_ , the look on Hawk's face says BJ has given everything away (but he almost doesn't mind).

Charles looks as though he'd rather be anywhere else right now, but BJ just grabs Charles by the shoulders, leans in, and kisses him on the cheek too before he can second-guess what he's doing. When he pulls away, Charles chuckles nervously, his cheeks pink.

"Ah, I see the mistletoe I put up is finally paying off," Hawk says, giving BJ a wink.

"What mistletoe?" BJ asks, and Hawk points to the ceiling, where there is indeed mistletoe hanging.

"Must we always resort to such cliches?" Charles sighs.

"Kiss him again, Beej," Hawk advises. "Maybe it'll shut him up. Or better yet, let me."

Hawk stands on tiptoe to press a very sloppy and enthusiastic kiss to Charles's face. BJ laughs at the flustered look on Charles's face, but stops laughing when Hawk turns to him, and very gently kisses the tip of BJ's nose. 

"Are we done with this disgusting show of affection already?" Charles asks, crossing his arms. 

"No," Hawk says.

"Never," BJ agrees, tears welling up in his eyes. All he can do is tug both of them in for a hug, laughing and crying at the same time, and for once, he doesn’t need to squint to pretend he’s with his family because he already is.

His two bunkmates have brought home to Korea, and that alone is Christmas more than any date on the calendar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to you all xo ♥


End file.
